


Can't Fake What I've Never Felt

by virmillion



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Panic Attacks, Sensory Overload, Swearing, but its not important yet, nor will it be until i write the next chapter, theres hinted romance between patton and someone else, we'll see, which very well might never happen tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-08-19 22:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16543364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virmillion/pseuds/virmillion
Summary: “AU where everyone is emotionless until they meet their soulmate and upon meeting them they slowly gain one emotion at a time as the soulmate does something that triggers the emotion into existence” - me, oil on canvas in a discord chat, 2018





	Can't Fake What I've Never Felt

“Why don’t you go out today? Do something fun with your friends?” The boy sets his coffee mug down, listlessly tracing the rim with his pinky.

“You seem to have forgotten that I don’t know what that means.” His mother gives him one of her signature looks, an emotion he can’t place. “Getting pleasure out of an activity or person, I know, I get it, but that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to try, Patton.” She glares at him over her laptop screen, fingers still clicking away. He gets a weird knot in his stomach at the noise, but it’s not like he could say why. That would require feelings.

“You can’t prove that.”

“Patton. Out.” Her eyes droop with something or other, begging him to comply for once.

“I’ll see what Roman’s doing.” Even if he could’ve been surprised at anything, he wouldn’t be at the fact that Roman agreed to an outing, provided he could bring Virgil along.

“Have fun!”

“Can’t.”

\-------

“I saw a dog lying on the side of the road and there was this weird pinch in my chest! It felt like someone ripped all my air out, then seeped it back in like a reverse helium balloon, and then my skin crawled over my knees and tingled, and my entire core felt so empty that I could feel my heart beating in my ribcage!”

“That’s great, Roman.”

“It wasn’t! It hurt! I asked Virgil, and he said it sounded like sorrow or something, that he had it before too! He wouldn’t tell me when, though.” Roman twists his lip to the side, kicking a pebble as he hopped between cracks in the pavement.

“That’s too bad.” Patton takes a bored sip of the iced coffee in his hands, not bothering to marvel at the sensation over his tongue. The signals spread through his mouth, to his throat, then—nothing. They just stop before they can reach his brain, tell him what to think about the pure sugar he’s pouring into his body. “So where is Virgil?”

“He said he was feeling bad, couldn’t make it.” Even with all of the teachers drilling emotion facts into the heads of their students, Patton is fairly certain that ‘bad’ isn’t an emotion.

“Bad isn’t an emotion.” Maybe he should’ve held it in, given the horror on Roman’s face, but he simply doesn’t have the wall that blocks those sort of things from leaving his mouth. How is he supposed to know other people get negative emotions when he vibrates his vocal chords, interrupting them with differing shapes and pitches in a certain way?

“Yeah, not like you would know.” Roman storms forward, the plastic cup splintering in his hand, warm liquid sloshing out through the straw. “You’re still a husk.”

Something deep within Patton knots at that. He’s sure it’s from Roman calling him a husk, as that’s what everyone calls people who haven’t found someone yet, but it still tries to force a rise out of him. Coming from somebody who isn’t a husk, for lack of a better term, it gives off the tone of something carrying a negative feeling. Patton remains quiet, knowing Roman will learn some new emotion or something, then come back to say he’s sorry. Probably. That’s what he’s heard other people say, anyway. An itch in his head asks what it means, but he doesn’t bother to scratch it.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry, man. That was pretty rude, I’m just feeling a lot lately, y’know?” Roman turns back, his eyes downcast in something. Shame, if school has taught Patton anything.

“No, actually, I don’t know. That’s the whole point.”

“Right, right, sorry. I said something I didn’t mean, and it made me feel not-good things for doing so,” Roman clarifies. “I should be more considerate of how nothing can impact you as much as it does me.”

“Roman, just go find Virgil, why don’t you? I’m getting the idea you’d rather be with him.” Patton drains more of his cup, ignoring the frantic bouncing of his friend’s feet. “Don’t pretend like it’s not true, just go.” Roman tears off running, feet hammering against the pavement, like he can’t get to Virgil fast enough.

\-------

“I can’t say I’m thrilled you’re back,” Patton’s mom sighs as he kicks the door shut.

“And I can’t say I care, but here we are.” Her calls of grounding follow him up the stairs as he tugs his door shut behind him. A muscle in his arm jumps, wanting him to yank it closed and let the sound reverberate through the house. This is, of course, an impulse he does not feed. Why should he?

The almighty device, holy and beloved, sacred throughout the ages, known to many as a “cell phone,” reveals no answer beyond some email notifications. Patton scrolls through them, largely unimpressed, but what else is new? Hard to be impressed when you aren’t anything to begin with.

_ Are you still searching for your soulmate? _

__ _ Have you found the one person you’re meant to be with? _

__ _ Can you feel truly fulfilled without emotions? _

__ “Can’t search if you don’t care, don’t care enough to find them, oxymoron,” Patton informs his inbox.

_ Are you sick of these notifications? _

__ “Trying to be relatable, got it. Nice. Still don’t care.” His thumb slips over the delete button, hitting the button to read the next one. He resigns himself to his fate, watching the page load. Some spam thread with a picture of a puppy playing in mud, followed by a threat for not posting it. Patton doesn’t even blink, deleting the message and continuing on.

“Patton, we need to speak with you downstairs,” his dad’s voice says from behind the door. The  _ locked  _ door, that is, as his father quickly learns upon jiggling the door handle. Patton’s brain nudges him, requesting he lift his eyes to the ceiling, a senseless endeavor. He knows nothing’s up there, so why should he go through the effort of moving his eyes? “Now.”

A sigh forces its way from him, unbidden but relentless, as he rolls off of his mattress and heads downstairs. His parents wait, hands clasped together, at the dining room table, the light overhead flicked on the lowest setting. He observes the lightbulbs, the thought crossing his mind that they look off center, not important enough to wonder at. Whatever wondering was. He knows his parents talk about it all the time.

“Patton, you’ve already graduated. You really need to start looking at finding your soulmate if you don’t want to pursue education,” his mom begins, lifting her eyes from the knot in the wood of the table.

“I can’t—”

“You can’t want anything, we know, we get it,” his dad interrupts. “Let her finish.”

“Hypocrite.”

“We found this nice event for hus—for people who haven’t found their soulmate,” his mom continues, correcting herself before calling Patton the unofficial. “So we decided on an ultimatum: you go to this meetup, or you start paying rent.”

“I’m literally eighteen,” Patton says, scrolling through his phone again.

“We could just put you out on the street.”

“I could just walk out because I literally cannot care.”

“Just go to the damn meetup!” his dad shouts, slamming a fist on the table as he stands, his chair crashing to the ground. Patton doesn’t even flinch, gazing with disinterest at his father’s beet red face. Something inside of him stirs, wanting to feel a certain way, wanting him to back away, to hide in his room, to let salt and water pour down his face, but he doesn’t feed the urge. Why would he? His father’s face burns brighter.

“Are you warm or something?”

“Are you stupid or something?”

“Richard!” his mom hisses, placing a gentle hand on his fist. “You know he can’t help it.” Their faces distort themselves in seconds, jumping from one position to another, nothing Patton bothers to keep up with.

“Patton,” his father says, pinching the bridge of his nose, “just go to the event, would you? For our own sanity.”

“Sure,” Patton says. “All you had to do was ask. When is it?”

“All day today?” his mother winces. “We would’ve told you sooner, but we didn’t want to upset you.”

“I can’t be upset,” he reminds her. “That’s the whole point.”

“Right, yes, we know, we are painfully aware.” Patton refrains from reminding her that he doesn’t know how to be painfully aware of something. “It’s in the park over by Roman’s house, if you’re willing to take a bit of a walk.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he says, pocketing his phone and heading out the front door without so much as a goodbye. Why would goodbyes be necessary, anyway? Just a phrase to clarify the end of an interaction, along with the hope for future ones, and he isn’t exactly versed in the wise ways of hope.

\-------

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Patton informs the tinny voice in his phone.

“You literally can’t be afraid, how do you know if it’ll be safe? You really should bring me along,” it complains.

“Roman. It’s fine. Thanks for asking.”

“I’m not asking, I’m  _ worrying _ .”

“Like I would know the difference.”

“Patton, I’m scared for you and it doesn’t feel good, can you at least text me every five minutes to assert your well-being?”

“Why?”

“Because we’re  _ friends _ , you malfunctioning pencil sharpener! I will have happy feelings if you confirm your safety periodically, okay?”

“Sure.” Patton snaps his phone shut, cutting off Roman’s farewell. He never used to do that before he met Virgil, and now he always insists on bidding Patton goodbye. Patton just doesn’t see the point.

In front of Roman’s apartment complex, into which he moved with Virgil mere days after their first meeting, Patton faces the park across the street, overcrowded with hoards of bodies. Living bodies, if the clarification is necessary. If further clarification is needed, yes, he looked both ways before crossing the street, no, he didn’t really care whether a care was coming, and no, he didn’t smile at the toddler he passed on the way.

“Hey, we got another one!” a chorus of voices shout as Patton lets the throng of people envelope him. He doesn’t know why it seems odd that these people at a meetup for people who haven’t found their soulmates yet are displaying positive tones of voice, and he doesn’t really care. “What’s up, dude?” A tall girl steps out of the mass of flesh, sticking her hand in the air.

“I don’t know.” Patton stares at the hovering extremity until it goes back down.

“Awesome! Just mill around, see if you feel something, it’s pretty informal,” she says, letting the squirming sea of skin swallow her back up. Patton nods, letting himself be swept along with her, endless greetings being tossed at his face, names and identifiers thrown out like bread to a flock of ducks.

“Name’s Quack!”

“I’m Ethan!”

“Hey, pal! It’s me, Jen!”

“Leela!”

“Brad!”

“Tammy!”

“Fender!”

“Brenda!”

“Sketch!”

Patton fights an urge to clamp his hands over his ears, bewildered as to where it came from, bewildered as to where bewilderment came from. Definitely something his parents have mentioned before, at least. How’s that for ironic, feeling the presence of a feeling trying to be felt in the midst of its own impossibility?

After what seems to be hours, but could well have been minutes, Patton finds himself spat out the other side of the crowd, leaning against a vibrating stage. A band plays some kind of music, not loud enough to be heard over the din of introductions he just escaped. The wood thrums gently under his hand, pounding the bass through his soul, a steady rhythm he can’t hear, but feel. Something he can feel, physically, even if not in the abstract, even if not in the way everyone seems to want him to.

“Hey there buddy, are you not having fun?” A guy wanders over to stand next to him, a blissful smile on his face. Not the kind from being ‘happy,’ as far as Patton can tell. More like the kind that someone gets from the illicit drugs his parents won’t tell him about. A fool’s errand, assuming he wouldn’t learn about it at school.

“I literally can’t have fun.” Patton ignores the handshake patiently waiting in front of him. “You know physical contact isn’t necessary for the emotions to start, right?”

“Wow, an emotional nihilist.” He leans against the stage beside Patton, nodding his head to a beat that pounds only within his head. “Can’t say I’ve met many like you. You’re some kind of special, kid.”

“I guess.”

“I could teach you how to have fun, show you what I mean sometime?” Patton shakes his head. That sounds like a bad idea, something they would warn students away from in primary school.  _ Never go with someone who hasn’t gotten emotions from you, because emotions can’t be taught. Emotions are earned through experience. _

“No thanks.”

“You could at least pretend to feel something, act like you’re enjoying my company or something, kid.”

“Can’t fake what I’ve never felt.”

“Dammit, kid, what’s your damage?” Before he can give a noncommittal shrug, his phone buzzes in his pocket, an 8-bit tone that Roman programmed in. ‘A happy tune,’ he called it, as if that meant anything to Patton.

“Hang on.” Patton raises an index finger to indicate the pause he’s taking from this new guy, tapping in the code over the lockscreen of him with Roman. A picture the latter had insisted on taking and setting as a wallpaper, insisting it had emotional value. For all Patton knew, it was true, so he let Roman have the small victories. It seemed to give him positive feelings, anyway.

+ _ It’s been six minutes, why haven’t you texted me? _

__ _ +Hello? _

__ _ +Patton! _

__ _ +Seven minutes! _

__ _ +ANSWER YOUR PHONE! _

__ _ +EIGHT MINUTES IS THREE TOO MANY _

__ _ +PATTON _

__ _ +PATTON _

__ _ +PATTON _

__ _ +PATTONPATTONPATTONPATPATPATPATPATPATPAT _

__ _ -hey _

__ _ +WHY DIDNT YOU ANSWER ME _

__ _ -because i didnt hear my phone ring _

__ _ +Oh _

__ _ +So how’s it going? _

__ _ -fine _

__ _ -nothing yet _

__ _ +Okay cool cool _

__ _ +Good luck, then! _

__ _ +You’d better be on time with the next update though _

__ “So you were saying?” Patton asks, turning back to New Guy.

“Who were you texting?” He stares at the outline of the phone in Patton’s pocket.

“This guy I know, why do you care?”

“Because you’re still a husk, how do you have anyone to talk to?” New Guy’s face is twisting and contorting itself at Patton’s continued apathy.

“His last name starts T-H-O, mine’s T-H-A, so we got seated by each other in first grade. That’s how everyone gets to talking with people as kids, is it not?”

“You should be more focused on who’s around you now,” New Guy replies. “People like me, not in your phone.”

“He isn’t  _ in  _ my phone, he’s just texting me through it.”

“Could you spare three seconds to actually look at me?” New Guy is fuming, his fingers clenching and unclenching. Weird, people without a soulmate weren’t supposed to feel, let alone feel feelings that made them need to release energy for it.

“Could  _ you  _ spare three seconds to tell me your name?”

“Right, sorry, it’s Jacob. My bad.”

“Thanks.”

“So, gonna tell me yours?”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“Why not? Come on, kid, that’s the whole point of this meetup.” Patton gets an unfamiliar knot in the bottom of his stomach as Jacob leans closer, planting his hand on the stage, inches from Patton’s and twice as big. The mere smell of the sweat leaking from his hairline is nearly debilitating. Ignoring the idea of backing away, Patton bares his teeth, the extent of his knowledge on smiling.

“If it were you, I really think I would’ve felt something by now. Oh well.” Assuming the conversation to be over, Patton leaves the security of the trembling stage, sticking to the fringe of the crowd as he moves for the road. Maybe Roman is still home with Virgil, and they can watch one of his movies or something.

“Hey, get back here! I wasn’t done talking to you! Kid!” Of their own accord, Patton’s feet start pounding against the grass, still damp from the morning dew. They carry him past clumps of dancing people, sobbing pairs and beaming duos, and some people standing alone and doing nothing at all. Jacob is in hot pursuit, an expression mangling his features that Patton doesn’t want to place.

His elbow collides with someone’s chest, and the world stops, freezing in place.

Confusion crosses the face of the person he hit.

_ Patton knows what confusion is. _

__ The world moves again.

Faster.

Spinning.

Sprinting.

Screaming.

Whirling and turning and whipping and racing and pounding and hammering and he can feel the pulse of the trembling earth ripping away at his foundations and his heart is jammed up into his throat and his eyebrows are drawing together and his legs are wobbling beneath him and his feet can’t go fast enough and his stomach is in knots and  _ fear fear oh god it’s fear what’s going on fear terror desperation fear help please dear god fear fear fear. _

__ “Come on, kid, I just wanna talk!” Patton feels his breath coming in short gasps, the world zeroing in on this guy chasing him down and he can’t breathe he can’t even tell his feet to move they’re just running running running away he can’t even think he just needs to  _ get away. _

__ Without bothering to look either way, he sprints across the street,  _ panic panic terror fear fear fear panic help scared fear afraid help fear _ , pounding a frantic fist against the door of the apartment building. He can feel it tingling on his tongue, a sour taste that rips over the surface of his throat, his spit a burning acid that coats his insides in a torrential downpour of terror.

“Kid, get back here! I’m not gonna hurt ya!” One prominent thought forces its way through the dizzying panic, that if this guy weren’t going to hurt Patton, he’d leave him alone. A tired voice crackles to life from the metal wall of buzzers, asking him to ring for the door he wants. The feeling pounding through his head swells, crescendoing into a debilitating stream of nonsense because  _ he can’t remember which room is Roman’s which room he’s doomed what can he do oh crap desperation please someone help fear fear Roman open the door fear help help what is he going to do Roman please help. _

__ His phone vibrates in his pocket, a valiant effort at diverting his attention from the way he can feel pure energy pulsing just below the surface of his skin. It vibrates again. Again. Again.

“Open the door,” Patton pleads, scaring himself more at the way his voice trembles. It’s never been anything but cool and detached before, but not it’s jumping all over the place and he doesn’t know what to do because everything is too much and too loud and that guy is crossing the road and catching up and the buzzer wall is talking at him and the front door is swinging and purple sleeves are reaching out and he can’t see and his hands go to his head and—

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, I’ve got you. Breathe with me, are you ready? Patton, can you hear me? I need you to breathe, okay? Ready? Just breathe in, two, three, four. Good, that’s good, hold it, two, three, four. You’re doing great, keep going. Breathe out, two, three, four, five, six, seven. That’s it, just focus on me. You’re doing great. In, two, three, four, hold, two, three, four, out, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Great, you’re doing great, Patton. How are you feeling?” Patton feels his body quiver and give out, the purple arms steadying him, one solid thing he can focus on for a moment, his muscles releasing their grip with his exhales. “Good job, Patton, you’re doing great.”

“Is he okay?” a more frantic voice chimes in, high pitched and anxious. It flutters through Patton’s ears, screeching and piercing and sending his pulse racing again.

“Roman, just shut up for a minute, okay? Let him take a second, I think he just learned what fear is.”

“I think I just learned what offense is.”

“I think I just learned that you don’t know what ‘shut up’ means. Patton, are you good?”

Patton lets one more shaky breath out, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, uncertain as to whether he’s completely ready to see the world again. He bites his lip, scrunching his nose, feeling the last bitter taste of terror drip down his throat into oblivion. He swallows it.

“I’m better, yeah. Thank you.” The words fall from his lips, a reverse doppler effect echoing itself through his mouth, flipping over themselves to spiral from his teeth to his tonsils and back out the posterior end again.  _ Gratitude. _

“Anytime, bud.” The purple sleeve extends itself, a pale hand poking out of the end, only the fingers exposed. Patton takes it gratefully— _ gratitude _ —rising carefully on unsteady legs.

“I’m guessing you met them, then?” Roman asks, his voice less grating now that Patton’s out of the worst of, well, whatever that was.

“Sort of. I elbowed somebody, and someone else was chasing me, so I was coming over here because something seemed wrong but I didn’t know what and I couldn’t exactly feel it and I elbowed this person and they looked confused and I knew for some reason that they were confused and then everything crashed down around me and the person was still following me and I didn’t—”

“Patton, slow down,” purple sleeve, Virgil, interrupts. “You’re going to hyperventilate. Take in some air, and start over. Slower.” Patton complies, breathing deeply before relaying the windstorm of confusion he’d just survived.

“Sorry your first emotion was such a sucky one,” Roman says, twisting his fingers. “Wish I could’ve been there for you.”

“Roman, sorry for what I said earlier,” Patton murmurs. “I was being unfair to you on the walk, and I—”

“You literally couldn’t have known any better, Patton, it’s—”

“Quit interrupting me! I made a mistake, I should have tried to be more understanding of your and Virgil’s situation, I was in the wrong, and I regret doing so, because that’s something I’m capable of now. I’m sorry, Roman, okay?” Roman sighs, blowing a puff of air at his dangling bangs before nodding.

“Okay.” He pulls Patton and Virgil into a tight hug.

“So now that we’ve got the gross mushy stuff out of the way,” Virgil says, voice muffled against Roman’s sleeve, “can we get out of this doorway?”

“I believe the term is a vestibule,” Roman offers, obviously proud of himself for knowing such a word.

“I believe the term is a pretentious prick,” Virgil replies. “Let’s go.”


End file.
